Hey guys, how's everyone doing? Just joined the forum although I 've been lurking for quite a while, so hi to everybody.
It takes quite a bit of effort for me to write this post, but then again almost every single task I try to engage in takes tremendous effort to do, so I tend to abort it.
Well, here's a bit about my story. I've been diagnosed with MDD since eight and a half months ago. My psych (who I trust and respect, that's one of the few positives really) has me currently under 450 mg venlaxafine (effexor) in the morning and 40mg of Citalopram (many brand names) and melatonin at night plus 3mg of Invega at night which is on the way out. This dosage began with a low dose of effexor and citalopram at night plus Levomepromazine (nozinan) 25mg and inveiga 9 m, so the antipsychotics were tapered and the anti-depressants increased in dosage. I am staying at the aforementioned dosage for the next 3 weeks or so, and then we are switching to another -tricyclic this time- AD if effexor bears no fruit. So that's at least another month (and I am very doubtful effexor is going to do pretty much anything to help even at this high dosage) and if things don't work out, a new AD so give it a month and a half at least to work. Time is always an issue, but time under such an un-effing-bearable daily existence is martyrdom.
In terms of the depression I don't have suicidal feelings, neither did I from the beginning, or feeling life is worthless or the typical depression ideations. I am depressed at my state of life and mind. What I have is a constant and unrelenting malaise, for lack of a better word. Nothing comes easy, a trip to get a pack of fags feels like a mini trip to some mountain or other, can't cook for myself and I always did that, horrible headaches, and popping zannax high dose benzos as if they were mints, they do pretty much nothing for me right now, well, some infinitesimally small relief, awful awful sleep and waking up with the gazilionth nightmare feeling tired. I went on vacation close to the seaside and I managed in two months to swim (love swimming) 4 days, and it felt like I was dragging a ball and chain doing it. Can't go out for a walk, let alone a run, can't pick up a book and read (loved reading), can't listen to music all that much, and about 3-4 times a day a catch myself saying to myself, god, jesus, how the fuck could I be feeling so damn unbearably awful. I am also pushing forty and past memories are always there to constantly haunt me, or whatever "me" is left of me and despite the consolation I get from my shrink, that me is a tired, torn, battered, ever tortured broken up me.
I wanna tell you guys, I 've no idea about coke or meth or heroin withdrawal symptoms and after detox the compromised quality of life that there might be, but I feel right now that someone who's not suffered the way I am suffering right now doesn't know what suffering in. Despite having my fair share of suffering in my life, despite say active alcohol abuse ( I dislike alcoholism as a word) with the shame, the guilt, the physical and mental torture your body goes through, the relentless brutal hangovers etc. I really had no idea what suffering really was up until now. Everything until now was kid's stuff, this is the real motherfucking deal, and it's as ugly as a Medusa's head.
So how did this martyrdom start:
I was smoking weed daily and drinking about a bottle of wine or so daily (a spliff and great glass of wine or two or three, after a nice home cooked meal, what a fucking dream,I wish I 'll be able to do this in my life at even some distant point in the future..), or anyway most of the days of the week. I have a history of alcohol abuse, with long bouts of sober living and weed helped me curb my taste for booze to a great extent. I almost always stuck to wine and binging was very very rare. I was also really productive at work, in the first few months of relationship I was into and happy about that. You 'd think that this kind of drug habit wouldn't have done me in so badly.
It didn't.
What did me in was a time frame of terrible stress during which I was sabotaged at work (a family member included in that nasty little conspiracy to freak me out, sadly), I had intense fears that my small weed growing side project would be reported to the coppers via my ex girlfriend, I had a neckless gorilla break my door almost right in front of my eyes, I had my life threatened twice, the second time with bodily harm (not taking place ultimately), I took a trip to Amsterdam (I remained sober there) under, well, very complicated circumstances to spell them out here, where I met a very unfriendly former lover and friend, I received a few emails supposed to freak me out... to cut it short, some people where out to get me, well, not to get me, but to terrorise me for sure. Pisses the fuck out of me, that here I am minding my fucking business, maybe going a bit further down the wind and weed road than I should have, and at the same time some people are minding my fucking life and plotting how to fuck me over.... At some point the immediate threats stopped and things calmed down, but I didn't, I threatened back, and I got into a manic phase overworking on a work idea I had, not sleeping well, fitting the bill of a manic episode to the t.
And then I fucking crashed. I had pain all over my back but the doctor couldn't pinpoint it to anything after the cramped muscle healed, and this ongoing excruciating pain took about 30-35 massage sessions to heal, and then I crashed even worse, I became a shadow of myself going to bed at 8 pm and waking up at 5 am, every turn to the other side on the bed feeling like a cripple's struggle, my voice was almost lost to a laboured trembling whisper, I found it impossible to even roll a cigarette (tobacco), felt incapacitated, and then I visited the shrink, under the impression that a clinic would probably be where I ended up. I had and still have a good rapport with the psych, but the first few weeks were more than unbearable being in a constant haze, unable to as much as open up the computer, walking around my neighbourhood with a family member everyday as the only means to ever so slightly feel less unbearable.
So, I am opening up this topic, although my persecutory experience is probably the stuff that bad dreams are made of for most here, but resistant MDD is something I am sure others have gone through regardless of the stressor that got them there. Glad I managed to write this post which I 've been postponing for so long, because the intention had been there but the capacity to do so was absent. Anyone wanting to commiserate, or who's struggling right now under similar conditions (my shrink tells me there's worse, can't believe that, but I trust the guy, so there must be worse), feel free to join this thread. And again hi to everybody, high to some of you guys.

It takes quite a bit of effort for me to write this post, but then again almost every single task I try to engage in takes tremendous effort to do, so I tend to abort it.
Well, here's a bit about my story. I've been diagnosed with MDD since eight and a half months ago. My psych (who I trust and respect, that's one of the few positives really) has me currently under 450 mg venlaxafine (effexor) in the morning and 40mg of Citalopram (many brand names) and melatonin at night plus 3mg of Invega at night which is on the way out. This dosage began with a low dose of effexor and citalopram at night plus Levomepromazine (nozinan) 25mg and inveiga 9 m, so the antipsychotics were tapered and the anti-depressants increased in dosage. I am staying at the aforementioned dosage for the next 3 weeks or so, and then we are switching to another -tricyclic this time- AD if effexor bears no fruit. So that's at least another month (and I am very doubtful effexor is going to do pretty much anything to help even at this high dosage) and if things don't work out, a new AD so give it a month and a half at least to work. Time is always an issue, but time under such an un-effing-bearable daily existence is martyrdom.
In terms of the depression I don't have suicidal feelings, neither did I from the beginning, or feeling life is worthless or the typical depression ideations. I am depressed at my state of life and mind. What I have is a constant and unrelenting malaise, for lack of a better word. Nothing comes easy, a trip to get a pack of fags feels like a mini trip to some mountain or other, can't cook for myself and I always did that, horrible headaches, and popping zannax high dose benzos as if they were mints, they do pretty much nothing for me right now, well, some infinitesimally small relief, awful awful sleep and waking up with the gazilionth nightmare feeling tired. I went on vacation close to the seaside and I managed in two months to swim (love swimming) 4 days, and it felt like I was dragging a ball and chain doing it. Can't go out for a walk, let alone a run, can't pick up a book and read (loved reading), can't listen to music all that much, and about 3-4 times a day a catch myself saying to myself, god, jesus, how the fuck could I be feeling so damn unbearably awful. I am also pushing forty and past memories are always there to constantly haunt me, or whatever "me" is left of me and despite the consolation I get from my shrink, that me is a tired, torn, battered, ever tortured broken up me.
I wanna tell you guys, I 've no idea about coke or meth or heroin withdrawal symptoms and after detox the compromised quality of life that there might be, but I feel right now that someone who's not suffered the way I am suffering right now doesn't know what suffering in. Despite having my fair share of suffering in my life, despite say active alcohol abuse ( I dislike alcoholism as a word) with the shame, the guilt, the physical and mental torture your body goes through, the relentless brutal hangovers etc. I really had no idea what suffering really was up until now. Everything until now was kid's stuff, this is the real motherfucking deal, and it's as ugly as a Medusa's head.
So how did this martyrdom start:
I was smoking weed daily and drinking about a bottle of wine or so daily (a spliff and great glass of wine or two or three, after a nice home cooked meal, what a fucking dream,I wish I 'll be able to do this in my life at even some distant point in the future..), or anyway most of the days of the week. I have a history of alcohol abuse, with long bouts of sober living and weed helped me curb my taste for booze to a great extent. I almost always stuck to wine and binging was very very rare. I was also really productive at work, in the first few months of relationship I was into and happy about that. You 'd think that this kind of drug habit wouldn't have done me in so badly.
It didn't.
What did me in was a time frame of terrible stress during which I was sabotaged at work (a family member included in that nasty little conspiracy to freak me out, sadly), I had intense fears that my small weed growing side project would be reported to the coppers via my ex girlfriend, I had a neckless gorilla break my door almost right in front of my eyes, I had my life threatened twice, the second time with bodily harm (not taking place ultimately), I took a trip to Amsterdam (I remained sober there) under, well, very complicated circumstances to spell them out here, where I met a very unfriendly former lover and friend, I received a few emails supposed to freak me out... to cut it short, some people where out to get me, well, not to get me, but to terrorise me for sure. Pisses the fuck out of me, that here I am minding my fucking business, maybe going a bit further down the wind and weed road than I should have, and at the same time some people are minding my fucking life and plotting how to fuck me over.... At some point the immediate threats stopped and things calmed down, but I didn't, I threatened back, and I got into a manic phase overworking on a work idea I had, not sleeping well, fitting the bill of a manic episode to the t.
And then I fucking crashed. I had pain all over my back but the doctor couldn't pinpoint it to anything after the cramped muscle healed, and this ongoing excruciating pain took about 30-35 massage sessions to heal, and then I crashed even worse, I became a shadow of myself going to bed at 8 pm and waking up at 5 am, every turn to the other side on the bed feeling like a cripple's struggle, my voice was almost lost to a laboured trembling whisper, I found it impossible to even roll a cigarette (tobacco), felt incapacitated, and then I visited the shrink, under the impression that a clinic would probably be where I ended up. I had and still have a good rapport with the psych, but the first few weeks were more than unbearable being in a constant haze, unable to as much as open up the computer, walking around my neighbourhood with a family member everyday as the only means to ever so slightly feel less unbearable.
So, I am opening up this topic, although my persecutory experience is probably the stuff that bad dreams are made of for most here, but resistant MDD is something I am sure others have gone through regardless of the stressor that got them there. Glad I managed to write this post which I 've been postponing for so long, because the intention had been there but the capacity to do so was absent. Anyone wanting to commiserate, or who's struggling right now under similar conditions (my shrink tells me there's worse, can't believe that, but I trust the guy, so there must be worse), feel free to join this thread. And again hi to everybody, high to some of you guys.

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